Brother, inspiration, guardian angel

How much did I love my brother, Mike?


One time, I ran out of the house and yelled, "Help! Murder! Police!" as Mike and my Mom were having a disagreement. It was one where Mom had the upper hand.

Mom and I can laugh about that today.

Maybe it has to do with a neighbor, Mrs. Bell, being outside and witnesses my over-reacting to the situation. What was a 7 or 8 year old to do?

Mike was the best big brother in my opinion. And since I am writing this story, that goes.

He may have been four years older, but big brother let his goofy brother tag along on many an adventure through our neighborhood on Sequoya Drive in Lafayette, Indiana.

Mike was talented in so many ways.

He was good at art, singing, school work, sports and being a good person.

There were many times Mike used his imagination to put together some great things.

I know there were times I got in the way, but Mike always kept an eye out for me. He was a guardian angel, and I think Mom and Dad liked that a lot.

It seems I had a wild child side to me back then. It is a good thing only pictures are available. I cannot imagine what it would cost to  buy all the film of my goofiness.

A neat thing about being a younger sibling, you get to go to cool school stuff like basketball games and choir events.

Mike's classmates were cool and the girls were sweet and good looking.

Being a younger sibling got me some great comments for being a butt head in front of my brother.

It may have made him look not so cool, but I got the girls' attention.

Trips to see my Mom's parents in Pennsylvania were great. Mike and I got to sleep on the floor in the living room. It was staying in a four-star hotel. Grandma's cooking and the great conversation of family made the house the must-be place for a week to 10 days.

I even didn't mind wearing hand-me downs, because if it was good enough for Mike, it was good enough for me.

I don't know if it was the summer of 1969 or 1970 when my brother scared me.

He slipped in the street as we crossed to come home from a friend's house. He was laughing and joking.

It was serious to me. I remember yelling at him to get up and out of the street before a car hit him.

How ironic that was.

On Sept. 16, 1970, Mike walked to Tecumseh Junior High School with several friends.

Just like he had done for a couple of weeks.

One big  problem was crossing Teal Road, which was a four-lane state highway route (Indiana 25).

Little did I know how tough it could be to cross that road.

Whether the car was coming too fast or the group misjudged the distance it was from them, there was a scramble to get out of the way.

Mike didn't make it. He was hit by the car.

He was taken to the hospital but died.

While I miss him dearly every day, I know God was right in taking Mike home. He would not have been the same person.

Sept. 16, 1970 was the day I learned I was mortal. That there was no 10-second count and you could get up after playing dead in a game of cowboys and Indians.

Life really can be tough.

Learning of Mike's death put me in a tailspin.

I cannot even remember if I said goodbye to him before he left for school.

What makes this even worst is that my grandparents from Pennsylvania were in town for a visit.

There were few times I saw either of my grandparents weep, this was one of those times.

The next few days were a blur.

Many people paid a visit to the house the day of the accident and the following few days. They brought food. They brought baked goods. They brought huge arms for hugs. But they didn't bring Mike in the door with them.

The wake for Mike was unbelievable. The people turned out in huge numbers. It seemed like the line waiting to talk to Mom and Dad never ended.

There were times I went up to the casket and stared at Mike. I swear I saw his chest raise and lower. He was just taking a  nap. No such luck.

A good thing to come out of this tragedy was a traffic light and cross was erected to help students cross Teal.

Pedro Castillo, whose son Pete was one of Mike's friends, led the effort to get the light. He parked his car in the intersection as school got out to help students safely cross.

I can never say thank you enough to Pedro. He is a man with a huge, caring heart.

After Mike's burial things got back to normal, or as normal as could be for a family of four that was now a trio.

Mom and Dad did the best they could. In a time when support groups and grief counselors were not around, my parents battled through the loss and we grew stronger and closer.

Dad bought a dog in November of 1970 and Cinder was a wonderful gift for all of us.

Forty-one years have passed since Mike died, I miss him as much today as I did back then.

There are many times I have been in trouble or come close to getting injured. Miraculously, I avoided the trouble.

It is simple to explain, Mike is my guardian angel.

It doesn't get better than that, does it?

Mike still is taking care of me.

Thanks, brother.